Forgotten
by Tolakasa
Summary: Postseries, AU. After Sunnydale, Buffy and the gang are trying to decide where to go next when Buffy receives an unusual summons from someone they could never have imagined: a power as strong and old as the Slayer, who has plans to destroy one of them.
1. Chapter 1

AU, post-"Chosen."

Will be mention of character deaths in later chapters.

* * *

The sun was setting as they sent the last of the surviving new Slayers home. Buffy leaned against a pillar and watched it disappear in a blaze of purple and orange. When was the last time she'd stopped and _watched_ a sunset back in Sunnydale?

Eight sunsets she'd watched from this forgettable little town, mostly from this bus station as she and Giles and his Council-issued credit cards determined the best ways to send the girls—and Andrew—off. It had taken two nights to get this far, sneaking around all the emergency services that had swarmed to the crater formerly known as Sunnydale. And for four nights after that, they'd simply huddled in their rooms in the motel, watching the news, trying to figure out their next step.

Today marked fourteen days. Fourteen days since they'd managed to seal the Hellmouth. Fourteen days of regrouping, of skulking, of trying their damnedest to keep their obviously unusual group below the radar, especially as the official theories about the Sunnydale disaster grew wilder. "Act of terrorism" was the current favorite, and the authorities were whipping up paranoia statewide.

Buffy looked down at her fingers, still stained yellow from the spray-paint they'd used to cover up the words "Sunnydale Unified School District" on the bus. No amount of soap—not the cheap motel soap, or the more abrasive stuff Willow had bought at the K-mart—seemed able to get the gunk off.

"Well, she's off," Giles said, coming up beside her. "Since Kennedy decided to stay with Willow, and Faith can't exactly take a bus back to prison, that's the lot."

Buffy flinched. That was their other major problem: Faith, their token felon. There was a teensy minority of cops not blaming terrorists; they had put Faith's escape with Faith's Sunnydale past and thought she was involved. Cops not looking for huge terrorist uprisings were therefore scouring the countryside for the second Slayer.

She pushed herself away from the pillar and surreptitiously stretched—and silently cursed her new clothes again. "I don't suppose there's enough left to go shopping?" she asked hopefully.

Giles smiled. "Maybe a small spree."

"But we should save it."

He nodded. "At least until we're certain what we're going to do."

She sighed. "So no new tasteful white-trash ensembles for me."

"You look fine," he said. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"I know. You've only told me that every day."

"You've only complained every day." She made a face at him. "Ready to go back?"

She nodded, and they started walking toward the motel. The locals thought they were crazy, walking everywhere. She wasn't quite sure what they were afraid of. She hadn't even seen a mugger, let alone the general badness that marked the usual walk home in Sunnydale. "What do we do now?"

"You're asking me?" He sounded surprised.

"I want somebody else to get that question for awhile." It was all she had heard for the last two weeks: _what now, Buffy?_

"I can understand why," he said quietly. "And I have an idea…."

"Don't stop. Tell me."

"Los Angeles."

She gave him a look. "L.A.? You _do_ remember who lives in L.A. now, right?"

"Angel. But—"

"I knew that was coming."

"Wesley is there too."

"When did you start liking Wesley?"

"I haven't. With my library gone, he's simply the nearest resource we have. We have to figure out what Willow's spell means for the Slayer. Slayers."

"L.A. it is, then." It didn't make much difference to her, to be honest. Right now, if it meant a decision had been made and she hadn't had to make it, she'd take a trip to Iowa. _No, wait. We shipped Andrew to Iowa._

They walked on in silence. They were in sight of the motel when Giles asked quietly, "Have you spoken to him at all?"

"No." She should have called Angel as soon as they'd found a phone, but she'd let Xander and Willow convince her that the girls with families should have first shot. Since then, she'd been too busy—and she hadn't been able to scrape up the nerve. "I guess I have to now."

"Unless you think we should just charge in."

"No. Better not sur— What the _hell?_"

Giles followed her gaze, and she thought she heard him groan. "I believe Xander has found our new transportation."

"I told him subtle." Buffy smacked herself in the forehead, then let Giles drag her across the parking lot to the—the— "_Subtle!_" she shouted at Xander, who was hanging onto the driver's door with one hand and scrabbling at something painted above it with the other. "This is as subtle as—as—"

Xander gave her a grin. "Subtle as a bright-yellow school bus?"

Buffy crossed her arms and looked at Giles. "I was kidding about wanting to be white trash. Really. I was."

Giles chuckled. Xander looked insulted. "It's not _that_ bad," he said.

"Xander, it's a racecar!"

"Technically, it's a van—" She gave him a look, and he obediently shut up.

It was a van, and a newish one at that. The base color was black; everything else was white and gold, painted carefully into an imitation of some kind of racecar. Sadly, "everything else" consisted largely of huge Army logos, bright yellow stars, and giant 01s plastered on the sides.

"Unfortunately," Xander said, still scratching at the thing above the door, "most of this is paint, not decals. The guy it belonged to was apparently a _very_ dedicated fan." He sighed.

"Xander, this is _not_ subtle!"

"Yeah, but our budget is," he answered indifferently. "The guy at the junkyard was only willing to give me five hundred for the bus."

"_I don't care!_ Take it back! We can't possibly—"

"And it's all he'd give us."

"You didn't try for anything a little more—"

"We don't have the _money_ for subtle, Buffy," Xander said wearily. "What was I supposed to tell him? That it was a perfectly good school bus that had only been stolen for two weeks now, and the scratches on the back came from one minor apocalypse?"

"Well, no, but—"

"We actually got pretty lucky."

"_Lucky?_" Buffy screeched.

"Yep." Xander hopped down. "The van belonged to the junkyard guy's cousin, but then two things happened. First, his favorite driver, the guy who drives the real version of this paint job, got hurt, and cousin sort of lost his heart for things. Then the cousin's reserve unit got called up, so the junkyard guy bought the van for cheap, planning to use it for parts. So I convinced him to trade us the bus for this plus five hundred bucks. He even threw in a license plate and registration, which I didn't look too closely at." He grinned. "Come on. Who'd expect the diabolical Sunnydale terrorists to be driving the Armymobile?"

"Xander, you're absolutely nuts."

"He's also right," Giles put in, peering inside. "Are we pretending to be dedicated fans of anyone particularly famous?"

Xander shrugged. "Some French guy." Buffy gave him another look. "I just read what's above the door. Where to now?"

"L.A."

Xander glanced at Giles, then back at Buffy. "L.A. where Angel lives L.A.?"

"That'd be the one," Buffy said cheerily. It was suitable vengeance for the van. "It was Giles' idea."

"Thanks a lot," Xander said to the Watcher.

"We have to let Angel know first, though," she said. "Maybe if you hope hard enough, he'll say no."

"Yeah, because Angel turns you down so very often."

She just shrugged, and headed for the payphone. "Tell everybody, Xander. If he says yes, we leave in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

Angel was infuriated.

"I can't believe it's taken you this long to call me!" he yelled. Buffy held the receiver away from her ear. "Dammit, Buffy, I thought you were all dead! We were bracing for things to spread down here!"

"Angel—"

"A little professional courtesy! That's all! Was that too much to ask?"

"Angel. I'm _not_ dead. We won. We sealed the Hellmouth."

"You lost people." It wasn't a question.

"Some. Mainly potentials—new Slayers." She quickly explained Willow's spell. "Anya. And Spike."

He was quiet for a few moments. "Did the amulet help?"

"Saved the day. Sp—"

"That's all I need to know."

"You don't have to be so childish about it." _Why_ couldn't he act like a grown-up about Spike?

"I'm not being childish," he protested. "I just don't want to hear you sing Spike's praises all night."

"Fine," she said wearily. "I didn't call to fight."

"So why—" There was a loud, piercing noise on the other end of the line. "Oh, for—hold on—" More noise, and then a shout: "_LORNE! _I told you, _no singing showtunes outside my door! _I don't care how good the acoustics are!" A door slammed, and Buffy giggled just as Angel picked the phone back up. "Oh, think that's funny, do you?"

"I can't _wait_ to meet somebody who'd dare be that chipper around you."

"Then come down here and meet him. You can slay him for me."

"But he brings you such joy."

He muttered something she didn't quite catch. "Did you just call to tease me about my sidekicks?"

"No. I called to tell you that Giles thinks—"

_Slayer._

She froze, listening. The destruction of Sunnydale had thrown the bad guys as badly as it had them; she hadn't seen even a normal vampire since. But they weren't gone.

"Buffy?" Angel asked.

"I heard something," she said into the phone.

_Slayer, come to me._

"Where?" she asked the air.

_You will know._

"Buffy?" Angel asked again.

She hesitated, then surprised herself by saying, "Giles thinks we need to head for England. Re-form the Council. Make a better version. All these new Slayers need people to keep an eye out for them, show them the ropes. Keep the Faiths to a minimum."

"You could do that here in L.A.," he said, almost as if he'd been in on the original plan. "We've got a new setup here; Wes has access to as much information as the Council ever did, maybe more. And just as many contacts as Giles, now that so many of the Watchers died—"

"Giles thinks the resources in England are better. Former Watchers and people like that. People who wouldn't have been there when it blew." Where was this coming from? Why wasn't she telling him to keep an eye out for a van with a tacky paint job?

"You have passports and everything?" he asked, concerned. "Sunnydale—well, it didn't look like you had much time to pack."

"We didn't. But we'll be okay," she added hastily.

"Are you sure?" He sounded completely unconvinced.

"I am."

She wasn't.

* * *

Buffy knocked lightly on the door to Giles and Xander's room, hoping they weren't asleep yet.

Xander got to the door first. "Buffy?" he asked blearily, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Is Giles awake?" She caught herself staring at his left eye, and jerked her gaze away from the scarred, empty socket. She hadn't realized he didn't wear his eyepatch while he slept.

"I don't know." He sounded too sleepy to notice her rudeness. "_Giles!_" he yelled.

"What?" came the irritated answer. In the darkness across the room, springs creaked, and something moved.

Buffy had planned out a sound, reasoned argument for her decision.

"We can't go to L.A.," she blurted instead.

"No Angel?" Xander looked at her, worried. "Are you okay?"

"But—" Giles couldn't quite comprehend this either. "Buffy—"

"There's someplace else we have to go first," she told them. "I don't know why, but we have to go there. _I_ have to go there."

Xander stared at her. "I knew you were going to crack," he said finally. "Too much stress. Go to bed now, you'll be saner in the morning." He turned and stumbled back to his bed.

"Giles—" Buffy began.

"Buffy, it's all right. We'll go wherever in the morning. _After_ sleep."

"Okay," she said meekly, and closed the door.

* * *

Buffy crept into her room, trying not to wake Dawn, Willow, or Kennedy. She changed in the dark and slipped into bed, shoving Dawn back over to her side.

She was asleep in an instant. She knew that because she immediately began dreaming.

The sun was rising behind the mountains. Silhouetted against the morning light was a figure Buffy thought was a woman. That was all Buffy could make out; the rest was obscured by shadow.

"Who are you?" Buffy asked.

"Come and see," said the other woman, in the voice Buffy had heard earlier, and she vanished. Behind her, deep in the mountains, a blue light twinkled, luring her closer. "There I am."

"But—I don't know how to get there—"

"You will know the way," the voice said, and Buffy came awake.

The room was bright with daylight. Willow and Kennedy were already dressed and packing, and Dawn was brushing her teeth. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Willow said cheerfully.

"Good morning." Buffy pushed herself up, confused. "Morning?" she repeated.

"Yep." Dawn tossed Buffy her clothes. "Get dressed so we can finish packing."

"Do you think Giles has enough money for us to go shopping when we get to L.A.?" Willow asked. "It's not that I consider myself a snob or anything, but—"

"Not much for style around here, are they?" They were all wearing jeans and t-shirts; Willow had performed a minor miracle by just finding enough different shirts that they didn't all look like they were wearing some kind of uniform. Then the rest of what Willow had said sunk in. "We're not going to L.A."

"We're not?" Willow asked.

"But Xander said—" Dawn began.

"We had to change plans." She hesitated, not sure how to explain this. "There's something we have to do first. Then we'll go."

She crawled out of bed and started to dress. "Is this that important?" Willow asked quietly. "More important than trying to get the new Slayers settled?" Buffy nodded. "Okay," Willow said, and began stuffing stray clothes into a bag.

"Okay?" Buffy echoed. "That's it? No arguing?"

"The last time we got arguey about something you said we had to do, you got kicked out of the house and we got our asses kicked," Willow said evenly. "Until you give me more details on _what_ we're doing, this time, I'm inclined to go along." She threw one bag over her shoulder and picked up another. "Hurry up, it's late. And you know Xander won't remember a thing you told him about changing plans."

* * *

They stopped for lunch at a McDonald's on the edge of the mountains. Buffy was in no mood to eat, though she still wasn't sure why, so she volunteered to guard the van, not realizing that Xander was already doing that.

He sat behind the wheel, staring into space; after a moment's thought, she realized that he hadn't even gotten out of the van to stretch his legs. She climbed into the passenger seat. "Whatcha thinking?" she asked.

He came out of his daze with a jerk. "Nothing," he said quickly.

"You're a rotten liar, Xander."

He shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just thinking about—" He paused. "Personal stuff."

"Personal stuff you can't tell me about?"

"You've got enough on your mind," came the unexpected answer.

"Xander, if you want to talk—" He shook his head. "_Xander._ It's me, Buffy, remember? You can talk to me." He'd been oddly quiet these last two weeks, but she'd had her hands too full to do anything about it.

He looked at her as if she were suddenly a stranger. "You don't want to hear about it," he said flatly. "You gonna guard the van?"

The wrenching conversation shift threw her for a moment. "Sure," she finally managed.

He tossed her the keys and left.

_What the hell was that about?_


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy could feel the place. She just couldn't _find_ it.

"It's nearby," she told Giles, when they stopped in another tiny town to grab something to eat. It was after dark, and so late that she'd had to wake Dawn to get her out of the van. "I can feel it. It's just— It's not as strong as it was."

Giles glanced down the street. There was a motel there, its "vacancy" sign blazing red and welcoming in the dark. "Maybe we should stay here, then, and start again tomorrow—"

"No!" Giles raised an eyebrow at her vehement exclamation. "Sorry. But we have to get there tonight. I don't know why." She sighed. "We're getting closer. Go eat. I'll try to figure this out—"

"You need to eat too, Buffy."

"I'm not hungry." The moon was coming up behind the mountains, reminding her of her dream. Was that a blue glow? Part of the moonrise, or separate?

"You're skin and bones and you're going to eat if I have to have Faith hold you down and Dawn force-feed you," he said, putting his hand firmly on her shoulder and steering her towards the building.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"You're no fun."

"Strange," Giles said, holding the door open for her. "I don't recall ever claiming I was."

* * *

Snores echoed from the back of the van. Giles and Buffy rode up front, the only ones who were awake. Every now and then, in the glow of the dashboard lights, she saw Giles' eyes dart toward her, and it seemed that he might ask something, but the words never came.

_He thinks I'm crazy._

Maybe she was. Maybe it had just been a dream. Maybe she'd imagined the whole thing. They could be in L.A., stuffed full of real food, snug in real beds; she had no doubt that Angel would have misspent all of Wolfram and Hart's resources to make them comfy. _And a shopping spree to re-outfit ourselves, anything we wanted, no spending limit..._

"What did you tell him?"

"Huh?"

"Angel. What did you tell him about where we were going?"

"Oh. I told him we were going to England."

"How did he take it?"

"He didn't argue. Much." Blue light flashed in the corner of her eyes. "Here!"

Giles stomped the brakes. There were thuds in the back as people and luggage went flying. "Hey!" Faith yelled from the back. "Warn a girl next time!"

"Here?" Giles asked softly. "Are you sure?"

"This is it. Look." She pointed into the darkness. "There's a road."

He followed her gaze. "Buffy, that's not a road, that's a game trail. We can't possibly drive down—"

"Then we'll walk."

"Buffy, we're in the middle of nowhere! We can't just walk down a trail in the middle of the night!"

"Oh, come on. What's the worst that could happen?"

"We could stumble into a trap?" he suggested dryly. "Just because the First is sealed up doesn't mean there aren't still vampires."

"I know, but— Giles, I have to go. Stay and watch the others."

"You're not going alone!" Dawn protested.

"Damn straight," Willow put in, yawning. "If this is a trap, you'll need everybody you've got."

Kennedy and Faith were nodding in agreement. Xander had already climbed out and was rummaging in the back.

Buffy sighed, realizing that any argument would only keep her off that trail. And wherever she was going, she had to be there by dawn, or she might never get there. "Fine."

* * *

The game trail—which Willow personally thought was a little too wide, too smooth, and too convenient to be used by actual game—wound through the trees, trees so thick that they lost sight of the Armymobile within a hundred feet despite the bright moonlight.

Buffy charged recklessly down the trail. Willow could only hope that she was keeping an eye out for attacks. The rest of them were half-asleep, and Wood had taken so many painkillers that it was all he could do to stagger along. Faith was covering for him, but not so well that even Dawn hadn't noticed.

_That wound should have healed better by now. I hope it's not infected, we still can't dare a hospital, we've been so busy sending Slayers home we haven't even _bothered_ coming up with a cover story, and one mention of Sunnydale and he'll be interrogated, not treated._

"Do you think she knows what she's looking for?" Kennedy whispered.

"I'm sure she does." _Oh, great, Willow. You couldn't convince _yourself_ with that tone of voice._

There was a grunt behind them: Wood, tripping on another tree root. Faith murmured something to him; Willow couldn't make out words in his answer, but his voice was sharp and fighter-proud. _He should have stayed in the van. Faith could have watched him while we did this._

Xander stumbled in front of her, victim of another tree root, and swore out loud. Buffy didn't even spare the attention to glare at him for cussing near Dawn, though Giles did. "_So_ glad we bought flashlights," he muttered, "they've been so goddamned _useful_."

"Tell me about it," Dawn said, rubbing her bare arms. "God, it's cold."

"Sorry," Willow said, "nobody told me we were going hiking."

"Not your fault," Dawn muttered, looking up the line towards Buffy. "Why did she bring us up here?" she whispered to Willow.

"I'm sure there's a good reason," Willow said, putting an arm around Dawn's shoulders. "It's just one of those Slayer things—" Kennedy pointedly cleared her throat. "An older Slayer thing, I mean."

Around them, the trees started to thin. The trail veered to cut across a wide clearing. Buffy stopped, bringing the whole procession to a halt, and played her flashlight across the clearing. Willow glanced at the sky, worried. Where was the moon? There hadn't been a cloud in the sky when they came in. And even if there were clouds, unless they were _extremely_ heavy, there should be a bright spot where the moon was.

There should be _magic_ where the moon was, shining palely in utter disregard of any clouds, and she couldn't find it at all. Not a glimmer.

Not even a star.

"This is wrong," she said, staring at the blackness above. "This is so very wrong—"

"No shit," Xander said, and she jerked her attention back to the ground. "Tell me they sell stakes at K-mart, Will."

"I didn't see— Oh, _fuck_."

* * *

"_Buffy!_"

She whirled toward Xander's yell, saw the figures clustered on the far side of the clearing. "Vampires!" he yelled, waving the flashlight frantically, making the beam bounce over them like a broken spotlight.

For a moment, she thought paranoia was just getting to him, but the constantly-moving light showed her flashes of fangs and distorted features. She should have sensed them—she should have _seen_ them! If she hadn't been so distracted—

She had a stake, yes—_one_ stake, singular, the opposite of plural. Faith and Kennedy should be weaponed and Willow had her magic, but everybody else? She hadn't even paid enough attention back at the van to notice if Giles and Xander had picked up weapons or not.

"Hold the light still!" Willow shouted at Xander. He obeyed, just in time to illuminate a vampire lunging towards him.

"_Xander!_" Buffy screamed.

He brought the flashlight down squarely on the vamp's head and it broke, plunging the scene into darkness. "_Fiat lux!_" Willow shouted, and light blanketed the clearing.

Ten. Fifteen. Twenty? There must be a nest nearby.

"Stay back," she ordered Giles, pulling out her stake.

"_Stop_," a voice commanded. The vampires backed off. Faith jumped after the vamp nearest to her, raising a stake—

And froze in place. "_Fuck!_" she shouted, wriggling in midair. "Let me go!"

"I said," the voice said again, quite calmly, "to stop."

"Who said?" Buffy demanded, eyeing the vamps. They were backing away, and they looked scared—and _not_ of the Slayers. Never a good sign.

"I did," came the uncomforting answer—uncomforting because it came out of the air and echoed around them, with no sign of a speaker. "Leave them be, and come to the house. And you—" That was obviously meant for the vamps, because they snarled, and began edging toward the shrubbery. "—let them come."

"What if we don't want to?" Faith snarled.

"What house?" Xander asked.

"Show yourself," Giles ordered.

The air trembled with laughter. "Come to the house and see."

"This is a bad idea," Willow said. "I can't break the magic, Buffy!"

"What do you mean, you can't break it?" She didn't want to face something Willow couldn't handle. Not now. It was too soon—

"She has ordered it!" one of the vampires shouted. "You must obey."

"I don't have to obey anything, bloodsucker," Faith growled, as unfazed as if she _weren't_ two feet above the ground.

"Who's _she?_" Xander asked.

"We find out at the house," Buffy said, looking through the darkness. She saw no house—

The darkness above parted, allowing moonlight to spill into the forest.

Only the forest was gone. The trees that had marked the edge of the clearing had disappeared, leaving behind a wide swath of yard and gardens—_level_ yard and gardens, though they were in the mountains—leading up to a massive, sprawling mansion. Every window was lit against the darkness, shining golden into the night.

"Oh, my God," Buffy whispered. Not a glimmer of blue, and yet she knew: this was why she had been called here. The answer was in that house. Related to that voice.

Faith suddenly fell out of the air, landing with a hard _thud_. "_Shit!_" she shouted. Someone giggled, but whether it was Dawn or a vamp, Buffy couldn't tell. Faith couldn't either, if the glare that took in everybody meant anything. The vampires, sensing the threat, melted into the darkness.

"Buffy—"

"This is what we came here for," she said, and began walking across the yard.


	4. Chapter 4

They were met at the doors by guards—vampire guards, in black and red outfits like antique military uniforms, with odd, weeping, cross-shaped scars on their foreheads. They looked—unhappy. Which was weird, because vampires? Generally the maniacally happy type.

Three of the guards took charge of their group and led them through a maze of hallways to a massive dining room with an equally massive, floor-to-ceiling east-facing window, silvered by moonlight. "Rest," one of the guards finally growled. "Sleep. Bathe."

"In here?" Buffy asked.

"You will find rooms through that door." He pointed. "There will be food later. Others have brought your belongings."

Buffy glanced at the others. Faith was studying the window. "If this _she_ is a vampire, she likes playing with fire," Faith finally observed. "No blinds, no shutters. Not even drapes."

"She is not a vampire," the guide snarled, and he and his buddies disappeared, in that annoying, here-one-second-gone-the-next way only vampires could.

"Buffy, what's going on?"

"I don't know," she answered, before she really thought about the answer.

"But—"

"I know, it doesn't make sense. I just know we had to come here. There's someone here we have to meet."

"Who?"

"I don't know," she said. "I just don't know. She's the one who called me." Of that much she was certain. This place had the same feel as the blue light in her dream: calming, relaxing, _healing_.

But why the vampires? Why would something that felt so—so _good_ be connected with vampires?

"Why do they have scars on their heads?" Dawn asked. Everybody turned expectantly to Giles.

"What, I'm supposed to know everything?"

"Well, yeah," said Kennedy. "Isn't that how it normally works?"

"While your confidence is overwhelming," Giles said, "I do _not_ know everything. I have no idea what this place is or who _she_ is or why she wants Buffy here."

"Giles," Xander interrupted. "The crosses. Ideas?"

"It could be the mark of a cult. Or maybe they just like cutting themselves. I don't know." He sounded frustrated.

"There'd have to be magic involved," Willow put in. "Otherwise, it would just heal, wouldn't it?"

"Possibly."

"Wonderfully definitive there, Giles." Xander glanced across the room at Buffy. "So. Now what?"

Buffy thought just a moment. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm taking a bath and going to bed."

* * *

The promised rooms were down a hallway, and each had the same huge east-facing windows as the dining room. "And a private bathroom!" Dawn chirped, exploring the room Buffy had claimed.

"Definitely a plus," Buffy said, thinking of the past months, with over twenty people—twenty _women_—crammed into a one-bathroom house.

"There's two beds in here," Dawn added.

Buffy glanced at her. "Yes, you can stay in here if you want," she answered the unspoken question. "But only because there's two beds. I'm tired of fighting you for the covers."

Dawn hugged her tightly. "Thanks, sis."

Buffy looked at her sister warily. "What brought this on?"

"This place feels weird." Dawn pulled away from her and began investigating the closet. "And I've had a headache since we came in."

Buffy studied Dawn more closely. Was she paler than usual? How could she not feel the sheer, unyielding _calm_ of this place? "I think Willow bought some aspirin. Ask her—"

"I already did—hey! Our clothes are here!"

_That was quick._ Another interesting courtesy. "She seems intent on making us relax."

"I don't think we should do that." Dawn sat down on the bed.

"Dawn, are you sure you're okay?"

"It's just a headache," she said. "You take your bath first. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning."

* * *

Morning was impossible to ignore, with all those huge east-facing windows, but Buffy's watch still claimed it was nearly noon when she finally pushed herself out of bed. Dawn was still out, though by the crinkle of pain on her forehead she was still suffering that headache in her sleep.

Buffy found breakfast in the dining room—a massive buffet of everything remotely resembling breakfast food, from waffles to Pop-Tarts. All the hot stuff was properly hot, the cold stuff downright icy, but there wasn't any sign of anyone _manning_ the buffet. Magic, maybe.

She was sleepy again by the time she'd eaten, and she went back to bed. These past few months had been rough; they were all suffering from some degree of sleep deprivation. And it was so _calm_ here, how could she _not_ sleep? Sleep was healing.

The sound of Dawn rummaging around woke her that afternoon. "How's the headache?" she asked, but her sister had only to look up for Buffy to know that the pain was still there, and possibly worse.

"I took more medicine," Dawn said—quietly, as if afraid the noise would make the pain worse. "And took the hottest shower I could stand."

"Did you eat anything?"

"As much as I could."

"Caffeine?"

"An entire bottle of Mountain Dew." Dawn sounded like she was about to cry. "It won't go away, Buffy."

"Everybody gets headaches, Dawnie," Buffy soothed, going over and giving her a gentle hug.

"Is that all it is?"

Her eyes were wide with fear, and Buffy suddenly understood. Mom. "It's _just_ a headache. It can't be anything else. Not here."

"Are you sure?"

"Hey." Buffy tilted Dawn's chin up. "Trust me. It's just a headache. You'll feel better once you've caught up on your sleep."

* * *

By sunset, they'd all slept themselves out, and the meal on the buffet had magically become a feast worthy of Thanksgiving. They'd stuffed themselves, but now none of them were drowsy, and the confinement was starting to grate on nerves—particularly Faith's and Kennedy's, who sniped at each other and anyone who got in their way until even Giles started swearing and throwing wadded-up napkins at them.

As soon as it was completely dark, the vampires showed up again. Now the leader, the guide from the night before, was dressed all in black, with a red tunic over it and a swordbelt over that. W_ell, this bears out the crazy vampire cult theory._ "Are you prepared?" he asked, sounding about as friendly as Faith with PMS.

Buffy glanced around at the group. Faith and Kennedy both looked like they might stake the vamps given the first bad opportunity; Wood still seemed to be in pain; Dawn was sitting at the table, her head pillowed on her arms, and Willow sat beside her, looking concerned. The headache hadn't slacked off yet. "We're ready," she said.

"Follow me." _Me_ turned into _us_ as soon as they stepped out of the dining room; there were five other vampires, all with the same red tunics and scars on their foreheads.

Their vampire escorts stopped them before a pair of heavy wooden doors. The hinges were dark metal twisted into semblances of vampire faces, but the leading in the small, blood-red windows made simple crosses.

Lead Vampire looked over them, his lip curling in distaste. "I don't know what it has come to that she is seeing _Slayers_," he muttered, and grabbed a door handle. Smoke wisped up; another cross imprinted in the metal?

_Crosses on the one hand, fangs on the other. What kind of cult is this?_

"I've seen less fuss for audiences with the Queen," Giles muttered. Buffy heard, and smiled, albeit nervously. An old-school vampire queen of some sort, a female version of the Master, would explain the overdone formality. _But not why we haven't been made dinner yet. Or why she wants to see the Slayer._

_The Slayer._

Not _a_ Slayer, but _the_ Slayer. She had known where to find Buffy, how to reach her; she had to know about the spell, about all the new Slayers. _She wanted to see me,_ Buffy realized._ Faith and Kennedy are only here because they're with me._

The heavy doors swung open, and the vampires got out of their way.

Maybe she _was_ a queen, because this was certainly a throne room.

It was no larger than the dining room, but empty, and windowless. Walls and floor were bare plaster and stone; the ceiling was crossed with dark wooden beams, from which hung a simple black-metal chandelier. At the far end of the room was a raised dais, and there, in an elaborate oversized chair, sat a woman.

"I don't bite," she said, and her amused voice carried the length of the room. "Come closer. I seldom get visitors who can still boast a pulse."

Buffy glanced at the others, then at the scowling guards, and shrugged. "I've come this far," she muttered, and walked towards the woman. The others followed.

The woman who sat in the fancy chair—Buffy refused to call it a _throne_, no matter how appropriate it might be—couldn't be much older than Dawn. She wore a long velvet dress, long-sleeved, that brought back dim memories of pictures Buffy had ignored as thoroughly as the rest of the history books. It was dark green, which Buffy privately thought did nothing for the girl's complexion; black hair and—she thought—black eyes needed something lighter.

"I was not sure you would hear my call." Her voice was low, and had a strange accent. "The spell that awakened the Slayers has had strange repercussions on magic. And I have had no business with a Slayer since—well, since this dress was fashionable." She smiled.

Buffy didn't return it. "Why did you want me here? The call was for _me_, not for anyone else."

"I admit, I wasn't expecting you to bring all your followers." Those dark eyes darted over the group before her. Did they linger on Dawn? "I hardly expected you to have any left after that debacle with the First," she added tartly. "Did you actually seal the Hellmouth, or did your people die in vain?"

Blind fury took over. First the call here, then a bad fight, and now being _insulted_ for saving the world again! The stake was in her hand and gone before she even realized she'd thrown it.

The woman looked down. "Slayers and their weapons," she muttered, then reached for the stake and casually pulled it from her chest. Flesh and velvet healed flawlessly. The woman weighed the stake in her hand. There wasn't even any blood on it. "Would you kill the only person on earth who could make your vampire lovers human?"

"You can make vampires human?" Giles asked. He sounded startled—or scandalized, Buffy wasn't sure which.

"Of course." She tossed the stake aside; it clattered on the floor and was lost in the shadows.

"Have you?" If this woman could make vampires human—what that could mean for Angel!

"Never." She smiled at a spot somewhere behind them. "You know vampires as well as I, Slayer. No healthy vampire would ever want the burden of mortality. Only the damaged. Angel. Perhaps Spike, although I find him harder to read."

Buffy choked down a surge of anger. So the woman didn't know _everything_, then, she just liked to pretend she did, like every other bad guy in the universe. "Spike's dead."

The woman raised an eyebrow, as if she'd heard what Buffy was thinking. "Not for long. Had you gone to Angel's, you would have met him again."

"That's impossible. I saw him—"

"Other magics have come into play."

Spike was alive? Panic grabbed her. "I have to get to L.A., then—he won't know what's happened—"

"You have no place there." The woman stood. "They have their own destinies and you no longer play a role in them. Leave it be." She came down the steps, the train of her gown trailing after.

"Looks like your seamstress goofed with that hem," Buffy couldn't resist saying.

The woman gave her an amused glance. "And I would say yours underestimated your measurements, by the tightness of those pants." She stopped in front of Wood. "Your injury still aches, yes?"

He blinked. "Some," he admitted, giving Buffy a puzzled glance. "I wouldn't say no to an aspirin—"

"No need." Her fingers brushed the front of Wood's shirt. Buffy thought she saw a blue glow, but it was gone before she could be sure. "Does that help?"

"The pain's gone," he breathed, amazed. "How—"

She chuckled. "This is what I do." She moved down the line to Faith. Faith crossed her arms over her chest, daring the woman to touch her. "Mistrustful as ever, Slayer."

"I don't need fixing." She was snarling again. "And if you try—"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You plan to stop me? Buffy has already tried, you noticed."

"Buffy occasionally fucks up."

"Hey!" Buffy protested, but Faith only flashed her a grin.

"Distrustful little girl," the woman said, but it sounded like there was as much admiration in her voice as annoyance. Then, in a move quick enough to put a Slayer to shame, she grabbed Faith's head. There was another bit of glow, and she released Faith, all before anyone else could react. "You can be yourself without obsessing on your scars."

Buffy glanced at Giles, then at Willow. Both shook their heads. Puzzlement all around, then.

The woman moved on. The look she gave Kennedy was dismissive, as if the younger Slayer wasn't worth her time. She stopped in front of Willow. "Oh, child," she said gently. "The injuries you bear."

"Huh? No, I'm fine."

"Not physically. _Here_." The woman touched Willow's head.

"Oh, no," Willow said quickly. "No, I'm fine. My head's fine. Really. Except for the time I went crazy and tried to send the world to hell, but—"

"Your trust is injured. Your trust in yourself." The woman shook her head. "But you are finding your way. There is only the grief to heal, and not even I can assist you there."

Willow looked confused, but nodded. "I'm better now," she said, glancing nervously at Buffy. "I have Kennedy to help me."

The woman glanced at Kennedy. "If you say so." Kennedy looked like she might protest that, but Faith grabbed her arm before she could.

_Okay. I just saw _Faith_ actually _stop_ somebody from running her mouth. What in _hell_ is going on?_

The woman stepped in front of Dawn, and her eyes narrowed. "You," she snarled, and raised a hand.

Buffy grabbed it. "Back off, lady, or I'll stake you again."

"You know what—what _this_ is, and you keep it with you?"

"That's my sister, and you need to shut up now."

The woman jerked away. "I thought you were brighter than this, Slayer."

"You're going to see just how bright I am if you don't quit this right now. And tell me what the hell you want with me!"

"In a moment." The woman drifted over to Xander. "There is one more injury here."

"Yeah, but mine's kinda permanent," Xander said, taking a step backwards.

"Nothing is permanent here but me," the woman said softly, and touched his eyepatch. Blue light spread from her fingers across the black cloth, a strange electric blue, and Xander screamed.

Buffy grabbed the woman's arm, jerked her away from Xander, and threw her. She slid across the tile floor, landing in a puddle of skirts near the steps to her throne. "Xander?" Buffy asked.

He was clutching at his eye now, breathing raggedly. "Dear God— _Jesus_, that hurts—" Buffy and Giles caught him before he fell to the floor, and lowered him gently. He fought against them, not thinking of anything but the pain.

"Xander, it's okay—" Buffy looked across the room at the woman. "What did you do? Fix it!"

"He'll be fine," the woman said, collecting her dignity and standing. Absently she brushed her skirts off. "The pain is only temporary. No, Matthias," she said sharply.

Buffy looked up in time to see the lead vamp backing off. "Xander, talk to me," she said, pushing it to the back of her mind. "Come on, it can't be that bad—"

He quit fighting. "It's easing off," he said hoarsely. "Not so bad now—" He squinted at her suddenly. "My God."

"Xander?" she asked. "So help me, if you've hurt him, I will _find_ a way to kill you—"

"Buffy, no."

"Xander?" Willow knelt beside them. "What—" He reached up to tear off his eyepatch. "Oh God. Buffy, look."

A pale blue eye stared back at them from what should have been an empty socket. "There's something there, isn't there?" Xander asked, grabbing Buffy's arms. "I can feel it moving, like the other eye—" He squeezed his good eye shut. "I can see. It's just blurs, white blurs, but I can see—"

"Eyes are complicated," said the woman softly. "They take longer to regenerate. The lens will clear, and the iris will darken, in a few days. Then there will be no evidence of the loss but your memories of it." She came over, and gently slid the eyepatch back into place. "This will ease the strain until the healing is complete."

Xander looked up at the woman. "Lady, I don't know who you are, but I think I could kiss you."

She smiled. "Matthias would not much approve, I fear."

"Back off." Buffy and Willow helped Xander up. "Who are you?" Buffy demanded. Again.

"_What_ are you?" Giles echoed.

The woman laughed. "Little girl," she said to Buffy, "have you learned _nothing_ in all this time? You, witch?" Willow shook her head. "The Watcher has already professed his ignorance. No one?" She glanced around the group. "How disappointing."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Make your point, because I'm getting bored."

The woman smiled again. It was disarming; it made her look helpless and charming and innocent. "There must be _balance_, Slayer. A coin must have two sides."

"Again. Your point?"

"There is no day without night. And there can be no Slayer if there is no Healer."


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you're a vampire healer." She turned to Giles. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"There are no such things as vampire healers," he snapped.

"Oh, there remains one of me. Your fine spell—Willow, is it?" Willow nodded. "Your spell, though a masterwork, could not change that. As the Slayer is destined to be mortal, the Healer is immortal."

Giles said something highly British and highly impolite. "Giles!" Dawn yelped, scandalized.

"Got something to contribute there, Giles?" Xander asked.

"How were you created?" Giles demanded. "What demon—"

"The Healer was born when the Slayer was. A side effect, if you will."

"A _side_— Now listen here—"

She cut him off. "Did your ancestors believe they could wrest something so powerful from magic without repercussions? Physics as well as magic will tell you otherwise."

"You were created with the first Slayer?"

"Yeah, Giles, that's what the lady said." Xander looked worriedly at Buffy. "Is he about to go Britishly crazy on us?"

"Be quiet, Xander!" Giles snapped. "You _have_ to be a demon. I know the history of the Slayer and there's nothing about a Healer anywhere in it!"

"Because you were not watching _me_." The woman's voice grew tight. "The Slayer was immediately put under control of her Watchers. They were too afraid of the power they had unleashed to let it run loose, especially when it was embodied in a mere _girl_." Bitterness laced the word. "But the Healer was unexpected. Not until a vampire came to her, one the Slayer had left merely wounded, and she healed him, did she have any idea of what had happened to her. That vampire became the first Kaldeish, the first guardian."

"But there's _nothing_—"

"Mr. Giles." There was command in the woman's voice. "I have many volumes of history on my predecessors in the library. You are free to peruse them during your stay. Suffice it to say that the Kaldeish have served the Healer by keeping her safe from both the Slayer and her Watchers, who would destroy her."

Silence followed that. "Predecessors?" Willow put in hesitantly. "But you said immortal—"

"_Naturally_ immortal. There were five previous, all killed. Each death has strengthened the defenses of the next."

"And these vampires...these Kaldeish..." Buffy and the Healer both glared at Giles, but he seemed oblivious. Probably lost in that place where all he noticed was the new discovery he was making. "They don't just guard you. They worship you."

To Buffy's surprise, the Healer smiled. "They are bound to me. I do not demand their adoration."

"And you heal them." He adjusted his glasses and looked at Xander. "Unless Xander forgot to tell us something, he's not a vampire. Or a demon."

"I am more limited than a Slayer. I am able to work only on those demons who are born human. This enables me to heal humans as well." She looked at Xander, and if Buffy wasn't mistaken, her expression softened, just a bit. "D'Hoffryn brought Anyanka to me, once, after your aborted wedding. He wanted me to fix her."

"He did?"

"D'Hoffryn was never human. He could not understand that love was something no one born human could escape, no matter what depths they reached. Love, like grief—" a lightning-quick glance at Willow "—cannot be cured, for it is not an illness."

"And vampirism is?"

"Giles!" Buffy snapped.

"What?"

"Can we have the study session later? I want to know why she called me here."

"To answer both questions—" The Healer smiled, just a bit, at Buffy's glare. "Vampirism is not an illness, but it is a change, and therefore correctable. As for why I called you here— You are yet a danger to the world."

"No, see, you have that backwards," Faith interrupted. "We keep the dangers _away_ from the—"

"Not all dangers are obvious. And until I am certain that the Slayer—" Kennedy pointedly cleared her throat. "All Slayers, of course, I meant no offense. Until I am certain that this threat is dealt with, that you are _capable_ of dealing with it, I ask you to remain here as my guests."

"And if we don't want to?"

"Feel free to leave, although I doubt the Sanctuary will let you."

The Sanctuary. That must be what she called this—this _place_. Willow had said something about magic, and there was the never-ending buffet, and now this. "So we're here until you let us go."

"Until you have appreciated the magnitude of the danger, yes."

"And you wouldn't be interested in doing anything as plain as _telling_ us, would you?"

"I will tell you when you are ready to listen," the woman said, her voice calm and challenging. "You are free to move about the grounds as you wish. I believe Matthias has already told you not to leave the human quarters."

Buffy crossed her arms. "And what vampire is going to stop us?"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "The Kaldeish will not harm you. They are not happy with your presence, but they obey me. If any of the patients attack you, you are free to defend yourselves." She stepped up to Buffy. "The Kaldeish are marked. You have seen this, have you not?"

"The crosses on their foreheads?"

"Yes."

"How do you get that to stay?"

"That is none of your concern. But be certain that if you harm one of them, there will be painful consequences."

"You against three Slayers?" Faith scoffed. "Right. You don't—"

"The Kaldeish are not ordinary vampires," the woman said, "any more than Slayers are ordinary girls. Now, if you will excuse me, I have patients."

"Vampires."

"Mostly, yes, although I believe there are a handful of minor demons in the south wing. Matthias will guide you back to your quarters."

She made it as far as the door. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

The Healer turned back. She saw that it was Dawn who had spoken, and her expression became cold, almost hateful. Buffy stepped protectively closer to Dawn. "What?" the woman asked. Her voice was no longer friendly.

"What's your name?"

"That would be useful," Willow said quickly. She must have seen that change too. "I mean, we can't just go around yelling 'hey, you' now, can we?" She glanced nervously at the lead vamp. "Don't they have something they call you?"

"Yes. They call me the Healer." She smiled as she said it, and Buffy had the feeling that smile was genuine—yet there was still ice in her gaze when she looked at Dawn. "I have not been addressed by name in so long that I honestly don't remember." One of the vamps growled something. "Why don't you call me Bambi?"

* * *

The lead vamp—Matthias, she needed to remember that—escorted them back to the dining room. Buffy waited for him to leave. "First things first. We need to find that library. Find out everything about her." 

Xander, rubbing his injured eye, absently asked "Why?"

"You heard her. She heals _vampires_."

"So?"

"So that makes her a bad guy, and we destroy bad guys."

The others nodded in agreement, but Xander simply blinked at her, confused. "Are you _insane?_" he asked. "You want to kill the woman who just healed Wood and gave me a new eye?"

"We don't have a choice."

"She could make Angel human! Or Spike, if she's telling the truth!"

"That doesn't matter." She was pretty sure Angel wouldn't thank her for making him human if it meant that this woman kept fixing vampires and sending them after people. Spike—well, until she saw otherwise, Spike was dead, and his opinion didn't matter. "At the very least, we have to track down the vamps she has here now and kill them."

"Her guards might have something to say about that," Xander snapped. "And I seriously doubt we could find the _exit_ without a guide, let alone the hospital!"

"That makes it even more important to find the library. The more we know, the less chance she has of trapping us here."

Giles nodded. "That could be her plan. The longer she keeps us here, the longer the new Slayers go without any sort of organization."

"Besides, Xander," Willow began, a little too encouragingly, "you don't even know that it'll work—"

"There is a _new eye_ growing there, Will." Buffy blinked, trying to remember the last time she'd heard Xander snarl, especially at Willow. "The doctors made it very clear to me. Eyes don't regenerate."

"But it still might not—"

"I can already see blurs," he blurted. "Dammit, don't you guys understand? I'll be able to see from that eye! That was _never_ supposed to be able to happen!"

"Xander," Giles said gently, "calm down."

"We're happy, Xander, really we are."

"Yeah, your enthusiasm for the first good thing to happen to us in ages overwhelms me."

"But evil things sometimes do good things. Spike at his worst helped me kill Angelus, remember?"

"Pity it didn't stick," he spat. "Think of all the hell we could have avoided!"

"_Xander!_" Willow screeched.

"That was different, Xander—"

"It always is!"

"Stop it!" Dawn yelled—and immediately she slumped over. Kennedy caught her.

"See what you've done?" Buffy snapped, kneeling beside Dawn. "Dawn, what—"

"Headache," Dawn said thickly. "Too much noise."

"Are you happy—" Buffy glared up at Xander, but he was already gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Xander walked through the halls, lost in his thoughts. His eye ached; he couldn't tell if it was phantom pain or a side effect of Bambi's healing. Either way, it was too much for him to sleep, and Giles hadn't had any aspirin to borrow.

Right now, Xander was in no mood to ask Buffy or Willow.

The halls nearest their rooms had been decorated, but these corridors were as bare as the throne room, and the lights, though electric, were as dim as candles. All the doors were shut. Occasionally he heard murmurs or words behind them, and once a scream. _Must be her patients_. How long did it take her to heal vampires? She had made his eye regenerate in seconds. Were vampires more difficult?

Suddenly, he came on an open door. The light that poured from inside was warm and homey, and drew him in before he had the sense to look into the room.

"Hello."

"Yah!" Xander jumped back, startled.

Bambi chuckled, and gestured for him to come in. She was curled up on one end of a couch, dressed in a dark blue gown like the green one she'd worn earlier, except that this one had a much lower neckline. She was sewing something.

"I don't want to bother you—"

"No bother." The needle flashed in and out of the cloth, almost like it had a mind of its own, and he could see now that the threads were forming a picture.

"It's late," he said, sitting down in a chair in front of her, not entirely sure he trusted her, and not entirely sure that chair had been there when he came into the room. "I don't want to keep you awake—"

"I do not sleep." She looked at him sharply. "Your eye hurts."

"Not bad," he said quickly. "Perfectly livable. I can even see out of it some already—"

"You should not force things, Xander," she said softly, setting her needlework in her lap. "Let me see."

Her fingers brushed his temple again, and he fumbled for a distraction. "That's strange cloth," he said finally, staring at her needlework. The fabric was all different shades of pale brown, like it had been tie-dyed, but subtler. "Is it special?"

"Only in that I prefer the effect for backgrounds," she said. "May I remove this?" He nodded silently, and she lifted off the patch. "Hand-dyed."

"You make it here then?"

She chuckled. "Matthias orders it for me. He ensures that I am not completely isolated from the world."

"Oh."

"I can give you something for this," she said, changing topic abruptly, but her voice was still gentle. "Or I can ease it along, but—"

"But?"

"Do you tolerate pain well?"

"Pain means nothing to me." She gave him a skeptical look. "Except that it makes me scream."

"A common enough reaction. The choice is yours."

"Finish it," he whispered.

She smiled, and he closed his eyes. The ache in his eye sharpened as she held her fingers lightly against his eyelid. "What are you making? The sewing, I mean."

"Merely something to pass the time." Heat started to build in his eye. "Portraits of those who come here. Or landscapes. I learned to draft patterns when I was young. Matthias tells me tales, sometimes, and I draft from what he tells me. Easy, Xander."

"I'm trying." It felt like Caleb shoving his finger into the socket all over again, and felt like his eye socket was about to burst into flame on top of that. His hands were clenched so tightly that his fingernails were gouging his palms.

"Almost there," she said softly.

"If—you—say—" He gritted his teeth as the pain dug deeper into his skull, and wished for a wild moment that he'd just accepted things the way they were, swallowed his pride, and asked Willow for some aspirin.

Then it was over. Bambi pulled her hands away. "Look now, Xander."

He opened his eyes. She watched him, her expression unreadable, the needlework still in her lap.

But for the first time since that terrible night, what he saw, he saw with both eyes; the world was no longer flat. "Oh, God," he said, and nearly choked on the words.

"Better?"

"Much!" Without thinking, he hugged her. "God, thank you, you have no idea—"

"Xander," she said, her voice sharp. "Patients don't normally hug the Healer."

"Oh. Right." He let her go. "Sorry."

Her gaze dropped to his hands. "This will never do," she said, and ran a finger lightly over the bloody marks his fingernails had left. They vanished without pain.

Xander met her eyes, and quickly looked away, suddenly uneasy. "So you don't sleep?" he asked, anxious to change the subject.

"No," she said lightly. "Not since I was called."

He looked at the needlework in her lap. There was much more picture than there had been when he came in, and now it was recognizably becoming a portrait, a portrait of someone with dark hair. "Then when do you dream?" he heard himself ask.

Bambi smiled at him again. "I'm dreaming now," she said softly. "Aren't you?"

* * *

Xander jerked awake. He was back in his room, with moonlight streaming through the open window. It occurred to him that that was probably not the brightest idea in what amounted to a vampire hospital, but it had been so hot in here earlier, with the fire going….

Memory came back, and he reached for his eye. Half the room went dark.

_But she said I was dreaming—_

He jumped out of bed and headed for the mirror.

The reflection that stared back at him was the old one, the one before Caleb. His eye was completely regenerated, and as dark as the other, not the pale blue it had been earlier.

He put his hand over his right eye, and stared in amazement. Not a blur. It was as perfect as it had been.

_Oh, God._ Despite the words he'd hurled at Willow earlier, he hadn't really believed that it would be, hadn't _dared_ to believe. It had taken him so long to adjust, and he still sometimes forgot—and now he didn't have to remind himself, didn't have to think about it.

Buffy was wrong.

Nobody who gave him this kind of gift could be evil.


	7. Chapter 7

"Healer."

She glanced up from her embroidery. "Yes, Matthias?"

"I—that is—" He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "I mean—"

She stifled a sigh. No new patients then. "Sit down and speak freely, Matthias."

He sat down in the chair he always took, the one next to the door. He was always uncomfortable in her private domain; she was not only the Healer, but a woman (Matthias had been some sort of monk before he was made) and older than he by a few years. "Healer, having them here—"

"I know you are unhappy with it."

"Is it really necessary?" he blurted. Then, abashed, he looked at the floor. "Forgive the impertinence, Healer."

_You can take the vampire out of the monastery, but you can't take the monastery out of the vampire._ Matthias had been chosen for the Kaldeish by the vampire who had called her, and it often seemed that Nith had arranged things so that Matthias-the-vampire would automatically accept her as his abbot, to be obeyed without question. While a practical trait—it was difficult to reconcile the loyalty required for a Kaldeish with the innate independence of a vampire—it was also an annoying one. "The imbalance remains," she said softly, turning her attention back to her embroidery. "It must be healed before it creates another rift."

Watchers. They made a Slayer to protect the world...and the world made a Healer, to protect itself from the Slayer. No sense of cause and effect, those silly boys. Well, her mother would have said that was typical of men.

"Yes, Healer, but—" He choked that off, and there was a muttered Germanic phrase that she thought meant _Forgive me_.

"Matthias, you know you may say whatever you wish to me."

He knew, of course, but he had lived too long with the iron discipline of the monks. "You could have left the Sanctuary. We could have gone there, long before the First acted—"

She shook her head. "The First's plans were too far gone by the time it manifested to the Slayer. Interfering then would have only made it impossible for her to seal the Hellmouth." It should have been evident earlier, much earlier, but there had been such confusion, with Buffy's second death and resurrection, with Faith obeying the laws of mortals rather than the Slayers, with the world wracked by Willow's grieving magics. Not even Matthias had dared breach the Sanctuary's boundaries then, and they had not sensed the First. Not until it was too late. "Besides, it has grown more solid with each passing year. Its true nature is hidden to those who do not look."

"It is still a danger."

"That is its nature." She glanced up. "We need only keep it here long enough, Matthias, and the Sanctuary will do the work for us."

"But— Healer, the boy! His wound could have kept him here _weeks_, and you—"

"Humans heal differently than vampires. Once started, it would have taken mere days. I saw no need to let him suffer." She gave him a stern look. "They stay, Matthias. They wish to destroy me, and that drive will give us all the time we need."

Matthias was quiet then. "Is that him?" he finally asked, indicating the embroidery frame.

She made herself shrug. "It may be. I have not decided yet." She lied, and they both knew it. The mottled brown fabric—her favorite of the colors he had bought from that vendor—had lain untouched until her audience with her new human guests.

"I thought you were saving the chocolate for a special one."

She set the embroidery in her lap and turned her head to look at him. This time there was nothing of the monk in his gaze; no, this was her Kaldeish, and her friend. "Keep teasing me," she said sharply, "and I'll have all the bloodstocks replaced with pig."

He grinned at the threat. He heard it at least once a month. "Shall I order more, then? Of the fabric, of course."

"If you like," she answered, knowing it was just an excuse for him to collect the rest of the Kaldeish into a huddle around that machine of theirs—a computer, they called it—go shopping for her. They lived for that, as other vampires lived for the kill.

He chuckled, and stood to leave—but stopped in the doorway. "Healer—" he began somberly.

"Say it, Matthias, so you may tell Wilhelm you tried."

He sighed. "We only need the two. Not the witch, not the men and not the other Slayers. Why—"

"Because they will not—none of them—leave it. Not until they have forgotten it." She raised an eyebrow. "Or have you forgotten that the root of our problem is that she wouldn't kill it in the first place, and that they inexplicably went along?"

He winced. "As you say, Healer," he said, and left.

She sighed, and stabbed the needle into the cloth a bit more violently than stitching demanded. "I need not this trouble," she muttered. "Why didn't she just destroy it when she had the chance?"

* * *

Buffy lay awake, unable to sleep. Moonlight streamed in through the massive window and illuminated pale, distant figures moving on the lawn, through the gardens. Other patients. Vampires. Her fingers itched to pick up a stake and attack— 

_But we can't._ She sighed. No vamp-dusting for her tonight, and she'd laid down the law to Kennedy and Faith as well.

Faith had taken the lecture with something near drowsiness; she'd been listening, but she was hardly Faith at all. She'd simply started cuddling up to Wood in a non-feral, totally non-Faithy way that had all of them staring, and to spare their sensibilities he'd finally gone off to their room with her. Buffy had watched them leave, worried, remembering that blue spark she'd seen. She'd never really trust Faith, not even a warm'n'fuzzy version—but was the Healer _that_ powerful? Powerful enough to fix Faith's scrambled mind?

_All I do is kill stuff. How am I going to go up against _that?

Kennedy had made up for it. She was as high on her new Slayer-powers as Faith had ever been, and Willow wasn't having much luck keeping the brat's feet on the ground. All Kennedy wanted was to stake every vamp she saw, and then possibly clean up by burning the castle down around their ears.

_God. How did my job ever get this complicated?_ She sighed. In the other bed, Dawn muttered something in her sleep and rolled over. _I hope this woman has security on her hospital. Injured vamps—injured _normal_ vamps—against full-strength Slayers? No chance. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel._

This line of thought wasn't getting her anywhere, except closer to rousting Kennedy and Faith out of bed and going on a hunt.

_But I should remember to ask Giles why anybody would want to shoot fish in a barrel to begin with._

And the Healer still hadn't told her exactly _why_ she'd called them here. Every question had been deflected, by tricks and Healing and other questions.

_When I'm ready. I'm ready now! I was ready as soon as she interrupted my phone call to Angel! How much more ready can I be? _

Dawn murmured in her sleep again. Buffy sat up. Dawn didn't talk in her sleep. She never had. "Dawn?" she asked softly.

"No," Dawn said, and began fighting the covers.

Buffy crawled over to her bed. "Dawn, wake up," she said, shaking her sister. "It's just a dream—"

Dawn came awake with a yell, sitting up and slamming headfirst into Buffy. That made her scream again, and try to scramble away, but she was caught in the covers.

"_Dawn!_" Buffy grabbed her before she fell out of the bed. "It's me, Dawnie, it's Buffy—"

Dawn stared at her as if she'd never seen her before. "B-B-Buffy?" she stammered. "But—"

"Sh," Buffy soothed, hugging her. "It was just a dream."

Dawn shook her head. She was shaking, poor thing. "It—it was Glory—only worse, she didn't want to open the gate with me, she just wanted to kill me—"

"You know I'd never let that happen." Dawn nodded miserably. "How's the headache?"

"Still there," Dawn murmured. She was drifting off to sleep again, not even really awake. Her hand was clenched on Buffy's T-shirt, so tightly that Buffy couldn't unpry her fingers, not without using more force than she wanted. Buffy sighed, and rearranged the pillows so that she had one, and pulled the covers up over them both.

It wasn't the magic. Willow had tested for that. It wasn't allergies. Dawn hadn't been exposed to anything that the rest of them hadn't.

And yet.

Bambi hadn't looked at anyone else so coldly. She'd healed Wood and Xander. Done—_something_—to Faith. Reassured Willow. Given Giles free run of the library. So it wasn't that they were Slayers, or in the company of Slayers.

What the hell could she have against Dawn?


End file.
